


Might as Well

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Weasley Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He started out as just the irritating neighbour across the hall.  But things tend to change when you live that close.  In the end he might as well be someone she could love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might as Well

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 Smutty_Claus fic exchange on livejournal as a gift for glitter_pink. As always, big thank yous to my cheerleader, Cryptaknight. And y'all should go read her stories too.

♣

_25 December, 2006_

Pansy didn't have very fond memories of Christmas morning as a child. The mornings were spent with her nanny and the house elves and, while she was always showered with presents, the holiday was very cold and unwelcoming. Her parents had their traditions; they often travelled, leaving just after luncheon and Pansy remembered spending a lot of her Christmas nights at either the Nott's or the Malfoy's. The first Christmas that broke the mould was in fourth year with it's tournament and Yule Ball. She never let on just how relieved she was to not make the lonely trip home to spend the holiday with people who acted like they didn't really want her around.

As the years passed, she found ways to avoid her family during the holidays. School excuses were easy. She had OWLs and wanted to keep her focus on studying later it was NEWTs. Once the war was over, her excuses weren't needed. Her father was in prison and her mother had moved to live with Pansy's dreadful aunt Agnes in Northumberland. Agnes thought Pansy was a trollop and refused to allow her to visit. Which was all well and fine. Pansy didn't want to see the old bat anyway.

It wasn't that she didn't love her parents. Pansy supposed she did love them and perhaps they did love her in their own way. But it was clear, as she got older, that the Parkinson family didn't really like each other very much.

Love was one thing, it was almost obligatory, but liking your family? That wasn't a familiar concept for her.

And she was starting to wonder if perhaps the same thing could be applied to her obnoxious boyfriend.

"It's still dark," she grumbled, pushing away his prodding fingers. When they wouldn't stop, she rolled over and frowned at the freckled face of George Weasley, grinning down at her. "You're a madman. Why are you up so early?"

"Because it's Christmas!"

"It'll still be Christmas in three hours when any reasonable person gets up to enjoy the holiday," she said, trying to tug the blanket back over her head. "I would think after the mayhem of last minute shoppers yesterday, you'd want more of a lie in than this."

George held the blanket to keep it from moving and leaned in to press a kiss to her neck. "C'mon... there are presents. And I've made hot chocolate."

Pansy sighed, truly wanting to point out that the presents would happily wait for a few hours and that she could always reheat a cup of hot chocolate. But the rough prickle of his stubbled cheek and the way his fingertips walked across her waist seemed to dissolve any of her irritation. No person before George Weasley had managed to have the ability to crumble her resolve so easily. On the one hand, he managed to get her to agree to things she wouldn't normally agree to and on the other hand, it drove her crazy because he was _so good_ at getting her to agree to things that she wouldn't normally agree to.

With a groan, Pansy sat up. She glanced over at the mirror and tried to smooth down her dark hair. "I should have ignored you from the start," she said. "Then I could have slept in this morning."

George laughed and handed her a wrapped parcel. "Do you really think you could have managed that?"

She thought about the question for a long moment and then ran her finger under the edge of the wrapping paper. "Probably not. You made it impossible."

♠

_12 September, 2006_

Pansy was furious. So furious, in fact, that she was tearing through the 'rooms to let' ads in the local paper. Even the muggle rooms, mind you, because she couldn't stand another moment living in a building that had a caveat in its lease agreement that barred excessive spellwork. Silencing spellwork was a necessity, Pansy felt, and decided it was completely unfair for the landlord to refuse to allow it.

Especially considering how loudly the music was playing in the flat across the hallway.

Shoving her chair back as she stood, Pansy crumpled up the useless ads and tossed the paper into the bin. The next thing she knew she was standing in front of 2-A, her fist raised. When the music entered into a fade-out, she pounded on the wood. How the people above them managed, she would never know.

Pansy thumped again before the next song started up. "Weasley, you answer this door right now!" she shouted from the hallway.

There was a light thump from behind the door and just as the next song started up, it cracked open. George Weasley looked down at her for a long moment, making Pansy regret not shoving her bare feet into a pair of heels before she marched over. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to make her five foot frame more imposing with a scowl. Usually that worked with the copy editors at _Witch Weekly_.

"It. Is. _September_."

George's eyebrows lifted along with the side of his mouth and he pushed the door open more so he could lean against the frame. "It hadn't escaped my notice that the month had changed," he said, amusement in his voice.

Behind him some voice continued to belt out some nonsense about a reindeer with a red nose before another moved on to horses and sleigh bells. Pansy's gaze was briefly drawn to the space behind him. She crinkled her nose slightly at the sight of papers everywhere in piles and when she looked back at him, she noticed just how scruffy and unkempt he also looked. She wondered if he'd bathed that morning or if this was a constant state for him.

Drawing in a breath, she pointed at her own open flat. "You're playing _Christmas_ music! And it's loud enough that I can hear it through your closed door and mine! It's just... just _rude_."

He didn't respond and Pansy couldn't stop the angry huff from escaping. She crossed her arms again and frowned, still irritated that her steely gaze was focused on the middle of his chest instead of his face. "If I recall correctly, all the shops in Diagon Alley have perfectly good flats above them where you can play your seasonally inappropriate music at any volume to your heart's content and not bother the neighbours."

George pushed himself off the frame and gripped the doorknob. "Can't."

"Whyever not?!" Pansy threw her hands in the air.

"There's too much of him there."

He didn't have to clarify the 'him' to whom he was referring and as the realization dawned on Pansy, she felt all of her fluster and irritation instantly deflate. She was no stranger to the aftermath of the war. Her own image was completely defined by a panicked choice by a scared girl wanting to end the terror by turning over the one thing (rather, the one person) who might be able to stop it. She lived with the shame of it. And here was George Weasley trying to live a life where he was constantly reminded of something he lost whenever he looked in the mirror.

She didn't know what to say.

"I'm just working on holiday wheezes. The music helps, but I can turn it down." He scrubbed at the back of his neck and gave her a lopsided grin and gestured into the flat. "Want some hot chocolate to make up for it?"

Pansy looked again to the mess behind him and then shook her head. "I'm not going in there." And then words that she hadn't expected seemed to just pop out of her mouth. "Bring it across the hall. We can drink it in my flat. At least you can see the floor."

She didn't know why she said it, but once it was said, it was out there. And when he came over to her flat, thermos of hot chocolate and notebook in hand, she had actually been surprised and pleased that he'd taken her up on the suggestion. They didn't even talk that first time. He sat on her sofa, sipping his drink and making notes in his book. Pansy, after fidgeting around her flat for the better part of twenty minutes, sat on an armchair and read a book.

When he left, he gave her a smile and a little salute. The next evening he was back.

♣

_25 December, 2006_

"Do you like it?" Pansy squirmed nervously as George pulled the tissue back from the box containing the suit jacket she'd gotten for him.

It had been the most difficult present for her to buy. Not because she had no sense of style, but because jackets and clothing were something that, in her circle, one had to have tailored. Making such things gifts was harder because the measurements were all guesswork. Thankfully she'd had help. Theodore not only leant his expertise in suits, but he hadn't asked any questions about why she needed to learn tailoring charms and how to get someone's measurements secretly. 

Not that Pansy was embarrassed about George. She wasn't.

But this relationship had happened quickly and she didn't like being the source of gossip. She'd already spent too many years listening to wagging tongues about her family and herself.

"It's fantastic," he said, slipping the jacket over his shoulders and giving it a tug. "Might be a little too posh for Christmas dinner at the Burrow, but it makes me look very debonair."

Pansy peered at him for a moment, then reached over and gave his bare chest a prod. "Perhaps would be a little more debonair with a shirt."

"Yeah, mum won't stand for no shirt at the supper table." George laughed, the smile on his face reaching right up into his eyes. She liked when his face lit up like that.

But the reality of his words started to niggle in the back of her mind. Pansy got up off her floor, giving the little tree, with it's tiny ornaments, a bit of an inspection. It was something to keep her hands busy as she didn't want to look as nervous as she felt. Being brought home to meet the family was a new concept for her. Sure, it wasn't like she didn't know who the Weasleys were. But she'd never been formally introduced to the family. There had only been interactions with those who had attended school with her. While she was in school.

And those weren't exactly the fondest of memories.

It was different in the Slytherin circle. Pansy had always known everyone's parents; she'd grown up with them in her lives and never had to be introduced. She knew Blaise's mother's ability to cut a man down, usually her husband du jour, with a single, cruel laugh. Theodore's mother had always been quiet but could convince Archibald Nott to do anything with a tilt of her head and an arch of her brow. Draco's mother was so much like Pansy's in her ability to be exactly what was expected of a Slytherin. The difference had been that Narcissa also had an unwavering loyalty to her son, whereas Moira Parkinson had no such devotion to her daughter.

Pansy's experience with family and mothers was enormously different to that of George.

And quite frankly, it scared her a little to be invited to the Weasley family dinner. A house full of Gryffindors felt strangely like a colosseum full of lions.

Looking back at him, Pansy watched as he removed the jacket and folded it over one arm. There was a flash of something as he tucked his hand into one of the pockets and she couldn't stop brief, downward turn of her mouth. But before she could ask what it was that he was hiding, George stepped closer and cupped his hand to her cheek, fitting his mouth snugly against hers. Her thoughts turned to syrup and started to slide out of her head and Pansy wanted nothing more but to grab edge of his pyjama bottoms and tug him back to the bedroom.

He drew back before any of that could happen. 

"Shall we get ready then?" he asked.

Pansy nodded and bent down to get her own robe that had ended up folded on the floor where she'd been sitting. George's hand slid against hers, their fingers weaving together. She paused and gave him a sidelong look, her stomach doing a little flip at his wagging eyebrows and lopsided grin. 

"Your shower or mine?" he asked, nodding his head toward the direction of his flat.

"Tch." Pansy tutted loftily. "Mine, obviously. Heaven only knows when you cleaned yours last."

George flattened his hand against his heart and gasped exaggeratedly. "That hurts."

"The truth?"

"Well. Yes." A rakish grin appeared and before Pansy could stop the squeal, George had hoisted her up over his shoulder, marching in the direction of her bathroom.

♣

_31 October, 2006_

"Why do you write for that rag?" George asked. 

Spread around him were old copies of the Daily Prophet and heaps of pumpkin innards. Pansy had tried protesting the Halloween celebrations but it seemed she couldn't say no when it came to George Weasley. From his lopsided smile to his genuine enthusiasm at including her in his mad ideas. She hated to admit that he had this contagious sort of joy about life and Pansy felt it a bad idea to try and quash it. A sad, despondent George Weasley just didn't seem right.

She looked up from the article on spring fashion she was putting together. "Because they pay me to," she said simply.

George pushed out a triangle of pumpkin flesh and set it aside from the main jack-o-lantern. "Yeah... that's generally how wages work." He reached for the knife and Pansy couldn't figure out why he just didn't use his wand. "You're too smart for them."

Pansy gripped her quill a little harder and stared at the paragraph on leopard print belts versus giraffe print belts while her irritation bubbled under the surface. It wasn't like she wanted to work for the magazine. People didn't even _know_ that she worked for it. Her byline contained a pseudonym and she didn't really enjoy the pieces she was assigned. But it paid the bills, something that Pansy had never had to contend with before, and it was mostly respectable work. She often wished that she was doing something else, but had never been able to secure employment elsewhere.

Pansy pushed aside the article, setting a book on top of the pages. "I'm too smart for a lot of things. You know I was second in the class in Arithmancy? From third year until seventh."

"Yeah?" George unfolded his legs and stretched them out, his left knee nearly landing in a pile of pumpkin goo. Pansy flicked her wand at it and the mess floated to the bin in the kitchen. "Never knew you were a numbers sort of girl," he said.

Pansy shrugged and glanced toward the window. "Arithmancy is more than just numbers... I find it fascinating. Mother wanted me to be fascinated in managing a large household and the latest in society etiquette. I felt it necessary to be interested in something completely the opposite. And it turned out that I rather liked the subject."

"You little rebel," he teased.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. " _You've_ never met my mother."

"So is that why you're holed up in a flat in London with a Weasley as a neighbour all while working for a magazine?" he asked, turning the pumpkin toward her so she could see the goofy face he'd carved. "Just to irritate your mother."

"It might have been a reason," Pansy replied, getting up from her chair and crouching down next to him to inspect his work. She pointed to a spot that hadn't quite been cut away. "She hates that I've no interest in parties and finding a suitable husband with a fortune to secure my future."

George went quiet for a moment as he completed the carving. Setting the knife aside, he looked at her with a wide smile. "Bet she'd be even more irritated if you got a job doing the books of one of the best joke shops in Diagon Alley."

Shaking her head with a laugh, Pansy rose and went toward the kitchen to put on the kettle. "Work for you? Just to irritate my mother? I might as well just start dating you."

"Yeah. You might as well." George leaned back on his hands enough so she could see him from her little kitchenette.

"Oh now I _know_ you're well and truly mad," Pansy said when she returned to the main room, flicking her wand at the mess and setting it to tidy itself up.

George got to his feet and picked up the pumpkin. He wiped the bottom of it with the edge of his striped shirt and marched over to the window, placing it against the glass on top of a radiator. Setting a jar inside, he coaxed a bit of fire into it with his wand. The pumpkin gave off a blueish sort of glow and Pansy almost demanded he show her the spell since it wasn't one with which she was familiar.

He turned back to her. "Think about it, Pansy. It's not a terrible idea. You already let me come and go without asking. I know you like your espresso with one sugar and absolutely no cream, but god forbid anyone forget the milk in your tea. I eat more meals here than I do at home and I've slept on your sofa..."

"That was only the once!" Behind Pansy the kettle started to whistle impatiently and she tried to ignore it, but the whistle just seemed to get louder. So she hurried over to the stove and turned off the heat.

"We might as well be dating," said George, leaning against the fridge.

"But we're not," Pansy insisted.

"Aren't we?"

"Of course we're not," Pansy returned, feeling a little cornered in the small space. "Dating is a ritual. You ask me out. We have dinner. You take me places. We have conversations and discuss important life decisions. This..." She gestured beyond him. "Isn't dating."

"Then let's go out," George replied with a smile.

"That's not how it works, George Weasley." Pansy couldn't stop herself from frowning.

"Not how what works?" George tilted his head. "The meet-cute in the hallway ending with hot chocolate in your flat? The comfortable rhythm we fell into? The sharing of takeaway? Carving Halloween pumpkins in your living room? You can't tell me you don't see how it could work as the start of a relationship."

"They could all be the start of a friendship as well," Pansy pointed out, raising her index finger at him.

George stared off into the distance, furrowing his brow in thought for a moment and she wondered what else he was going to try and come up with. It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it once or twice. Despite his outrageous Gryffindor-ness, he was certainly a fit sort of fellow and she couldn't deny that she found him nice to be around. He'd been through an awful trauma during the war and in spite of all of that, he'd never once asked her about her father's involvement or those ill-chosen panicky words she constantly regretted.

He was nice and she was starting to like 'nice'.

"Then there's the epic kiss..." George remarked, tapping his chin.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Now I know you've gone around the bend. There hasn't been any sort of kissing, epic or otherwise."

He looked at her, surprised. "There hasn't?" His expression lit up. "Well there's our problem right there."

Before Pansy could remark that she didn't see them having any sort of problem, George and closed the space between them and cupped the back of her neck, bending down to press his mouth against hers. It took only a moment for her to realize that yes, this had been a problem and the epic kiss had indeed been missing. Kissing him was like a breath of fresh air that she never knew that she needed until she was shown what breathing fresh air was like. His lips toyed with hers, first teasing the bottom and then teasing the top and when he gently coaxed her mouth to part, by god she allowed it.

Slowly George drew back, his mouth barely parting from hers. "Epic..."

"Oh shut up." Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

Besides, she thought, the second kiss was so much more epic.

♣

_25 December, 2006_

She supposed that she ought to be grateful that there were small children running around the house when they arrived at the Burrow. The wild chase and the wailing of small voices helped to distract everyone from their own surprise at George's choice of plus one. Pansy supposed it could have gone worse. She could have been asked to leave the house and not come back and perhaps that would have been a bit of a relief because the gathering of people was _so loud_. Instead George had put everyone in their place and no one had said a word.

"You'll get used to zee noise."

Pansy pushed herself away from the wall she'd backed herself up against and swallowed a gulp of wine. She let herself smile a little. The house was full of people who didn't exactly like her all that much, but it turned out that there was at least one, aside from George, whom Pansy felt mostly comfortable to be around. That turned out to be Fleur Delacour. Correction: Fleur Weasley. She had been the first to stand and greet Pansy, including her in the conversation and welcoming her to into the house when everyone else had mouths hanging open like codfish.

"I had to get used to explosions coming from the flat across the hallway. I don't know why I assumed that more than one Weasley would be quieter."

Fleur's laugh was like bells and she shifted the little girl on her hip. How she managed that with the bulk of her late pregnancy, Pansy didn't know. "Oof, Dominique, you are too 'eavy." She let the little girl slide to too the floor and shooed her off to find her sister. "George must be very serious about you. 'e 'as not been back for a family Christmas since 'is brother..."

Pansy flushed and took a swallowed a mouthful of wine. "I can't imagine that I'm the cause of all that," she replied hastily. In an attempt to change the subject, she waved her hand at the tree and the other children playing with toys at the foot of it. "You know I never had all of this when I was little. My parents were very strict when it came to the ritual of the holidays and very much believed in children being only seen, briefly at that, and never heard."

Fleur gave Pansy a warm smile. "After a few 'olidays with the family, it will be easier."

Pansy opened her mouth to protest. She'd not been blind to the side looks from George's sister and the frowns from his younger brother. It was a nice gesture to bring her here, but she was distinctly aware of just how much the rest of the family didn't exactly like her. It seemed as though they were tolerating her for the time being. But before she could say something to that effect, Fleur held up one hand, the other resting on her stomach.

"Zey didn't like me at first either. But William loves me and it does not matter what zey think."

Over near the tree there was some sort of altercation and two high pitched voices let out a scream and then started to cry. Fleur excused herself and hurried over to comfort her two young daughters. Pansy took the opportunity to finish her wine and take refuge somewhere upstairs. It was all too much. Too much family. Too much holiday cheer. Too much of everything. Fleur talking about love and she didn't even know if that's what George felt or why she was so flustered about it all.

George found her maybe an hour later sitting on the edge of the bed in a room that was obviously meant for two. She sat staring at the empty bed, her heart still racing and her hands gripping her knees.

"What did you put in your pocket?" she demanded when he took a seat beside her. "I saw you do it. I saw you put something in there after you tried on the jacket. Because if it's a ring and you're thinking of proposing when we've only been together for a couple of months you have to know that is quite possibly the--"

If she had been more angry and less scared, being cut off mid sentence with a kiss would have been aggravating. But the way his mouth pressed against hers and the way his hand slid along her cheek was grounding. Pansy leaned into it, barely noticing the object being put into her hand. She broke the kiss to look down at the little box and her face crumpled because it was the last thing she wanted to see.

"Just open it," he said, pressing a kiss to her dark hair. "I promise it's not as bad as you think it is."

Pansy drew in a deep breath and then opened the small box. But instead of the ring that she feared, she saw a small key, which she plucked from the velvet. It didn't look any different than an ordinary house key. Of all the things he could have surprised her with this was most baffling and although she'd given up trying to explain George's quirks, Pansy found herself entirely lost.

"I already have a key to your front door..."

"But you don't have one to the flat above the shop." George took the key from her and it was at that point she saw the fine pink ribbon that had been looped through the hole at the end. He let it dangle between them. "Do you want to live there with me, Pansy Parkinson?"

"What?"

"We're always going back and forth between our two flats. I spend more nights in yours than in mine. The place above the shop is enormous and I thought it might be nice..."

Pansy didn't know how to respond. She was both confused and elated at the same time. Part of her wanted to ask about Fred. She was distinctly aware of how he'd come to live in the same building as her. But she couldn't find the right words, nor did she even know how to ask or if it was her right to change the mood and bring up the subject of his brother.

"It's alright to say no if you don't want to," he said, looking unsure and nervous. Both of which she had never seen him look.

"You're mad..."

"Yeah I might be," George said with a smile as he leaned over and rested his head against hers.

"Then I must be mad too because I have every intention of saying yes." Pansy turned her face towards his and caught his mouth in a kiss.

George looped the ribbon around her head and as it slid down over her nose, it forced them to part, the key finding a spot against her chest. He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to the spot just above it before looking at her with a wide smile and a playful look. He glanced around the room once, a somewhat thoughtful expression appearing on his face. Pansy shook her head. Under no circumstances was she going to get into a compromising position in his parents' house and she'd already told him that before they arrived.

Without speaking, George got to his feet and went over to the door, pulling it open and leaning down over the stairwell.

"Oi! Gin!" he shouted.

A voice floated up from the ground floor. "Yeah?"

George looked back at Pansy and then down to his sister below. "We're heading out. Happy Christmas! Give everyone my best!"

Before Ginny or anyone else could respond, he'd dashed back into the bedroom. With his wand out and his arm around Pansy's waist, he apparated the pair of them back to London. The flat was blissfully devoid of sound. There was no din of voices and Pansy felt the tension inside of her start to uncoil. Perhaps one day she would get used to the cacophony at the Burrow. But today had not yet been that day.

"Your family is going to dislike me even more for taking you away from the Christmas gathering," she said, trying not to melt as George pressed kisses to her neck.

"My family mocked Fleur behind her back for months until she stood up for herself," he replied, his breath warm on her skin. "Now she's just a much a Weasley as the rest of us. They'll learn to love you like I do. Prickles and comments on my hygiene included."

Pansy felt her breath hitch and swore that some of his Gryffindor-ness was rubbing off on her because without a second thought she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling herself being lifted as he straightened a little. "Lucky for you," she said, "I love you despite your inability to clean up after yourself."

There had once been a time where Pansy had imagined that a declaration of love would be a grand and sweeping gesture. As a young girl, she'd thought it would involve bouquets of flowers and horseback riding. When she got older and the world got a little more cold and desperate, the idea that someone would come to her and proclaim their love got further and further away from her. And standing in the corridor, her arms around a Weasley, who was most _definitely_ tugging at her jumper in order to get his hands under it, had never been something she'd imagined.

Pansy smiled against his lips. "Mother will insist on New Years."

"Killing the mood," George groaned, pulling back just enough to pull her jumper up over her head.

"Or..." Pansy hooked her fingers in the belt loops of his trousers, leading him as she walked backwards toward the bedroom. "Perhaps I'm planting the idea of doing something that would never get us invited back." She gave him a sly look. "Imagine the trouble we could get into."

George looked at her, tugging his own shirt off and dropping it on the floor. "I'm a bad influence on you."

"Or I'm using you to my advantage."

George laughed and nudged her onto the bed. "I should have expected nothing less from a Slytherin." He pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

Pansy always liked this part. If ever anyone told her that surely a Weasley must be just as blundering and unskilled in bed as he was with manners, Pansy would have to argue otherwise. He'd mapped her body ages ago and knew her better than perhaps she knew herself. His fingers moved over her skin as if he was exploring yet they always managed to go to the exact right places at the exact right time.

It didn't take long until every inch of her skin hummed with the thrill of being touched, from the soft skin behind her knees to the tips of her nipples. And just when she thought she couldn't take the lightly skimming touch a moment longer, George kissed her fiercely, his hands gripping her thighs, his hips settling between them.

Sex had always sort of been mechanical before George came along. It did the job and she wasn't entirely unsatisfied. But things were different with him. This wasn't just sex. It wasn't even as silly as 'making love'. It was something she couldn't even define.

That lack of definition thrilled her to no end.

His body rocked against hers. He touched her and kissed her and everything was starbursts and shivers. The first time with him, she'd bit her lip and almost screamed out 'Weasley' at the end. Now it was George. It was always George. She shuddered and arched her back, her body shaking and the name that slipped out was just George.

Her George.

He made her feel like the universe was inside of her trying to burst out at every seam.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it always would be.

"Did you know it was going to be this way?" she asked after the second round, her chin resting against his bare chest, her hand sweeping back and forth along his arm.

"Ever since you shouted at me for playing Christmas music in September," he said, his laugh rumbling against her cheek. "Never thought I'd be afraid of someone so compact..."

"We're going to work on soundproofing your invention space at the shop." Pansy said, propping her cheek against the heel of her hand. "I'm not going through that again."

"We might have to put those spells on other spaces as well."

"If you're suggesting I'm noisy when we're together..."

George gave her a cheeky sort of look. "I was thinking more of the snoring."

Pansy gasped and sat upright, reaching for a pillow to smack him with. "I do not snore. Arse!"

George caught her hand and tugged the pillow away, quickly pinning her against the mattress. "I'm a loveable arse, though," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You might have to convince me of that after such a grave insult to my character. Snoring. Honestly."

To George Weasley's credit, he was _very_ convincing.

♣

_25 December, 2007_

The children were older, but no less noisy and still tore around the house in a screeching stampede, upsetting a bowl of oranges on the low table in front of the sofa. Pansy reached out and caught little Louis by the arm before he waddled over the fruit and fell. Fleur scooped him up into her arms and scolded the others, sending them off into the other room for sweets with Grandpa Weasley.

"I'm never going to get used to this bedlam," she said, leaning against George as he sprawled behind her in a turkey-stuffed daze.

"Give it another go next year?" he asked.

"The amount of time I spend at your family gatherings, we might as well be married," she said wryly.

"Yeah," George said, holding out his hand. A ring sat in the middle of his palm. "We might as well, right?"


End file.
